


Last Fling (Before the Ring)

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings™, slight alcohol mention, stag nights idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"-some baldy McGee pushes me against some chair and starts you know- gyrating his hips in my face and it was all very traumatic.” </p><p>“That’s a lap dance, Philly.”</p><p>(Or the story of Dan and Phil, stag nights, and why Phil Lester absolutely cannot go clubbing alone)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Fling (Before the Ring)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this fic whilst fever-addled + my neighbours confusingly started blasting off fireworks at 4:30 p.m. (lmao happy (almost) birthday @Malaysia), so, we'll see how this goes.

It’s a Wednesday night and the old _married_ couple is in bed.

“What do you mean by a _stag night_?” Dan asks, incredulous, because the idea seems so far-fetched and _American_ to him that it doesn’t even register for a few moments. He’s seen the series of Hangover films (more so for Bradley _fucking_ Cooper than the actual plot but _still_ ) and he imagines himself getting flat-out drunk and accidentally getting married to Chris or something. He shudders at the thought.

“It’s more an obligation if any-“ Phil starts but Dan’s caught up with the wild gesticulation, transfixed with how the ring on Phil’s finger catches the dim light and glitters. The simple silver engagement band transforming into something akin of magic and promise ( _God_ , he’s getting sappy). Like a boulder, It hits him, then, that _holy fucking shit I’m actually getting married in a month_ and to the ultimate best person in the cosmos and that in itself deserves _some_ sort of celebration.

“Wait, no-yes, uh, maybe.”

“Really?” Phil asks, confused and slightly amazed, like he can’t quite believe his ears. Like when he was popping the big question barely months ago.

_MakoHaru was having a moment (rare as they may come). They’re sitting on some steps and Makoto is telling the black-haired boy something and they’re looking so deeply- and what the fuck?_

_The screen freezes and okay, the Anime gods are so being mean right now. Dan must’ve been so engrossed to not have noticed how Phil is suddenly kneeling (on the bed) next to him. How he has the fondest look on his face that parallels the look Haru has on, lips parted and eyes wide._

_“Phil?” he asks warily because this is either one of two things; a marriage proposal or some sexy kink thing Phil was talking about the other day but then there’s a black box in his hand._

_Phil sucks in a breath or two._

_“Dan Howell, this is probably not the most romantic place to do this, on a Friday, having dinner in front of a computer screen and watching closeted gay boys-“ Dan resists the urge to_ snort _\- “but maybe this is perfect because well, we started off on two opposite sides of the screen, pining and lonely apart, but now, 7 long years later and I have you next to me everyday and well, that’s totally_ “hashtag character development” _,” Phil says and there’s a ripple of laughter. Phil’s eyes still glint under the dim bedroom lights._

_He continues._

_“I can’t promise that MakoHaru will end up happy or that he’ll get that swimming scholarship and, I’m rambling-  but I do promise to love you, make you happy when the clouds of self-doubt loom above because you’re all I’ve ever wanted in life-“_

_Dan feels slightly bad cutting off Phil’s sappy romantic proposal speech but when he mutters, “Yes, yes” in between kisses to Phil’s jaw, he thinks he’s got the point across._

“Only if it’s fun,” Dan says finally, to the stag night, but he really means, _I fucking love you._

 

-

 

So, Dan’s fiancé, Phil, is not a bad planner, necessarily. He’s written two books, he’s gone on several self-planned worldwide tours, he’s even taken care of a rabbit at some point of his life. But, it seems like Phil would have it _better_ in theoretical physics than actual stag-party planning. And it really _isn’t_ that hard.

“Where do we go?” Phil whines a lot later, over a bowl of Lucky Charms in the lounge. He has one hand scrolling through no doubt the list of hottest night clubs in London whilst the other is absent-mindedly flicking crumbs off the front of his t-shirt. It's Dan's turn to clean so anarchy is about to fucking break loose.

Dan sighs finally, running his fingers through Phil’s fringe. “Anywhere’s good, babe,” he says to get Phil to stop worrying. 

“No, Dan, we’re only getting married _once_ ,” Phil says exasperatedly and Dan wonders why he’s taking this whole thing so seriously. Chill, dude, it’s _just_ a stag night. “And I need to get two venues-“

“Wait, _what?_ ” Dan asks as Phil raises an eyebrow to mean _what did you think?_

“Two?” Phil reiterates. “-what, Dan, we can’t have a bachelor’s party _together_. That’s definitely breaking some unspoken marriage law or whatever,” Phil says, annoyed. He still kisses Dan chastely.

“We’re gay, I’m pretty sure that’s already breaking some traditional marriage laws,” Dan retorts because Phil’s being _unreasonable_ (and not because he’s getting jealous visualising Phil alone in a room with a hot stripper, totally _not)._

“I’ll get this done, we won’t be cursed by _fucking_ Aphrodite or something and we’ll have our happily ever after,” Phil tells him afterwards, the ten minutes that Dan has spent stewing with anger becoming meaningless because nothing fills him up with more warmth than picturing Phil at the end of that aisle. 

Dan’s got Phil pushed up against the sofa cushions now, spelling demise to any significant conversations about stag night(s) surely.

 

-

 

Golden Retriever’s Syndrome has Dan completely forgetting any talk about prospective _before-marriage-parties_ ( _stag_ sounds too horse-like, Dan had surmised, weeks before, to which Phil had aptly replied, “Your mum is a horse” because he’s like _twelve_ ) until it’s the night of the parties and he’s suddenly getting dressed.

“Louise is about ten minutes out,” Phil had told him, eyes unabashedly trailing down the length of Dan’s figure in tight skinny jeans and a dark black shirt. “You look great, by the way,” Phil compliments and any attempts he makes to ruffle Dan’s hair sexily is swatted away. 

“Okay, love, couple of things; don’t touch the hair, call every hour and I love you,” he’d said quickly as Phil left for his own party with the “guy group” as Phil had called them (or Dan likes to rhyme, ‘weirdos who make videos’). He’d been vague about where they were going but Dan’s sure he heard a muffled gasp of “ _men with suspenders?_ ”(seconds later, “ _only?”_ ) when Phil was on the phone with PJ the other day. He doesn’t want to think about it really.

Phil kisses him square on the lips, lingering innocently even as the honks of the taxi resonate around the flat. “I love you too. Have fun!” Phil exclaims before almost tripping down the stairs in very Phil fashion.

Louise arrives shortly after but she’s just gotten off a long flight and had asked guiltily, “Change of plans, so, Chinese instead?”

“That sounds perfect.”

 

-

 

They’re at a restaurant on the other side of London.

They haven’t seen each other in a while so Dan’s _bachelor’s party_ is more of a reunion and so he’s lost in a flurry of conversation about wedding planning, Darcy’s first day at grade school and Kanye. He’s gone two hours in without checking his phone once (it keeps his anxiety about Phil at bay, at least) but that goes out the window when Louise goes pale white at her own phone screen.

“What’s wrong?” Dan asks, sipping his margarita.

“Don’t check your Instagram.”

The first thing Dan does, of course, is check his Instagram. The grabby hands Louise makes at the device is ignored and Dan’s heart stops at the first thing on his feed. 

It’s a photo Chris had posted on his private Instagram account, only about six minutes ago. At first glance, it seemed normal enough, a selfie of himself and Felix with the background spanning the length of a dance floor. Dan had ‘liked’ it immediately before he notices a figure in the background, the man’s fringe is tousled and his eyes wide at the half-naked man in his lap. 

Dan can recognise the outline of Phil’s body _anywhere_ , unfortunately for Phil, of course, that _ass._

“I’m sure, um- it’s a stag party, Dan,” Louise shrugs like it’s normal to _hook up_ at stag parties but funnily enough, Dan isn’t angry at all, he’s calm, in fact. He’s even more relaxed after he’s sent this;

 

> _To Phil (Sent):_
> 
> _that guy seems nice and good abs. hope u hv fun. don't bother coming home 2nite_

 

“Yeah, Louise, I’m fine,” Dan says finally but then Louise’s eyes go wide and sad and suddenly the events of the night are hitting him a million miles an hour and his eyes are welling up.

“Okay, you’re not fine,” she’d said, scooting closer and pulling Dan into a bear hug. She smooths his hair reassuringly and they make quite a sight, really. “Phil is not a cheater, he’s loved you for longer than I’ve had Darcy, babe,” Louise consoles and Dan quickly shakes himself. _I love Phil._

“Yeah, I know, I know, I’m overreacting,” Dan admits and just then, Phil’s name flashes on his phone screen, the item now discarded across the booth. “Talk to him,” Louise says slowly, passing him the phone and Dan’s honestly never felt more conflicted in answering a call.

He leaves for some back alley behind the restaurant. He sniffles softly and Dan isn’t sure if Phil hears it over the loud club music. “Dan?” Phil asks, worry encapsulating each word as Dan hears it through the receiver. 

He is silent.

“Dan, I don’t know what’s wrong,” Phil tells him and something in Dan snaps at that. “What? Man- _naked_ \- on your _fucking_ lap. Does that ring a bell,” Dan spits at Phil and he _feels_ Phil wince at him swearing, his tone borderlining furious and his cheeks red out of anger.  

“He’s not- I mean, he’s not _here_ ,” Phil tries to explain and the words that come out of his mouth are all _wrong_ and it travels across the sound waves to slap Dan in the face. _Once, twice._ He cannot believe- well, he cannot think much of anything except his next few words.

“When he does come back, tell him you’re free, for _life,_ ” Dan says menacingly, slowly, and hangs up before he hears whatever measly reply Phil has in store. He sends a text:

 

> _To: Louise (Sent)_
> 
>  
> 
> _something came up & im going home. explain later <3 _

 

Dan trudges home, raindrops pattering his face, masking the tears that threaten to fall. He’s _not_ going to cry. Phil just doesn’t deserve him (which is fucking _ironic_ because he spent the whole of 2012 believing otherwise) and that these past few years meant nothing to the other man. He wallows in a pit of misery and water droplets still mixing with his salty tears and he thinks.

 _He can’t wait to get home,_ he thinks as he hails a cab.

_He can’t wait to get out._

 

-

 

He unlocks the front door to soft music playing and he’s half-tempted to call the police on this _romantic_ robber. He eyes candles lit at the base of the stairs.

“Phil?” he asks stonily, the feeling of the damned word on his tongue foreign, like he didn’t spend last night whispering it in ecstasy at the feel of the man between his legs. He feels  _twisted_  for wishing it was really an intruder and not Phil roaming the upstairs.  

He steels himself and walks up the steps, pushes open to their lounge and is greeted by pictures, pictures everywhere. He recognises most, longer fringes, eighteen year-old Dan Howell laughing uncomplicatedly as Phil nuzzles into his neck. The things he hasn’t seen in years, kept secret and stored deep in his subconscious, not first in his head but always just _there._ Now, they’re in front of him, printed and stuck across four walls.

Phil appears timidly, and he’s still dressed in his stag shirt and pants and Dan stands there, stiff and speechless. “I’m a shit explainer,” Phil starts and Dan can’t help but nod wearily. “So, I thought I’d show you in photographs instead,” he says and he guides Dan to the start.

 

On a paper, 

 

       

 

It evolves then to text messages, printed scripts of terrible typos, attempted flirty banter and a lot of “You’re my best friend” inserted amongst the lot. Like a prayer.

Phil’s printed their Skype chat logs, ancient screenshots and Dan’s train ticket, economy class to Manchester, which Dan picks up shakily because he hasn’t thought about it in a while. 

(Maybe he has, though, when he wakes up to Phil every morning with the same fluttery feeling he had stepping off that train. The _Dan Howells,_ past and present, are quite alike, he realises.)

He keeps going, clutching at the train ticket like a lifeline, with Phil’s hand in his other, and pours over each word, each confession of undying affection because _this is the love people dream about._ He has that, stronger over the years with every Anime watched, every cheesy pun traded for the cameras. He has _Phil._

He reaches the end, more of the beginning, really, with the very last (first) notice. It goes; 

 

     

 

He gasps, muffled by his hands covering his mouth, “Phil, you-“

“Let me explain first,” and Dan has to agree because there are no words in his brain as of yet to formulate a coherent sentence.

“I don’t know what happened at the club, one minute I was sipping some weird drink at the bar and the next, PJ goes, “Surprise, Phil”, and some _baldy McGee_ pushes me against some chair and starts you know- _gyrating_ his hips in my face and it was all very traumatic,” Phil says apologetically and Dan can’t help but snort.

“That’s a lap dance, Philly,” he says, bemused with surprisingly no anger or animosity. 

Phil continues rambling. “-yeah and I was all like, “Dude,” and shoved him away and I heard him mutter like, “ _they better still pay me for this_ ” and well, the lad was a stripper, Dan,”

“Yeah, I gathered,” Dan keeps from laughing because it was clearly very traumatic for himself as well but the situation could only happen to _Phil_ and he does end up laughing.

“You’re not mad?”

The laughter subsides. “I was, you know- I kept thinking, _Phil is dumb, he’s a cheater, he doesn’t actually love me,_ but, Phil, what you’ve done, even when nothing that happened was your fault-“ he gestures to the pictures glittering the walls, a constant reminder, “-I fucking love you, Phil and I’d be broken if you ever did the, well, man rubbing up against you _thing_ for real.”

Phil’s eyes are shining and he takes Dan’s palm to his mouth and places soft kisses. “Aphrodite will send those vicious naked baby cupids on if I did and you _know_ how superstitious I am, Dan,” Phil confesses and it’s better than any promise he could make.

They sit in a meaningful silence.

“I’ve had all these pictures for a while, you know, I was going to have this ready the night before the wedding. But I evidently needed it today more than anything else.” Dan chuckles softly. Phil continues, looking slightly worried, “We still are going to have that wedding, right? Ring and all?” 

His eyes are hopeful, blue, wide, _in love_ , all at the same time.

And Dan has no other way to exclaim _fuck yes I can’t wait_ than a cheeky, “Rim me tonight and I’ll let you know.”

 

-

 

And so it ends exactly how it begins (except with more makeup sex involved), because if anything, Dan and Phil are creatures of sentimentality and habit.

It ends with the old _married_ couple in bed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @phanetixs on Tumblr if you want to see more of me ranting about Phil Lester's eyes (v good content right there)
> 
> have a nice day!
> 
> (EDIT 16/9: To be clear, the edits in this fic are fake, 100 percent so, and made specifically for this story. if you see them around twitter or tumblr, please do not reblog or consider them as legitimate tweets, thanks!)


End file.
